Between the Lines
by almostclover
Summary: When Ezra and Aria begin to write a book together 5 years after they left each other and Rosewood behind, the lines begin to blur between past and present, what's written between the lines showing far more significance than mere words on a page. (True to the events of the actual TV storyline)
1. Chapter 1

**Ezra...**

"I'm pregnant."

The words fell haphazardly out of her mouth, and I remember feeling this uncanny and compelling sense of urgency to grab them before they hit the ground. Before they shattered into a million pieces and took her with them. I was obviously in shock, but I was equally in pain. By the look on her face, I knew she wasn't exactly overjoyed with the news.

I invited her in and told her to have a seat because I wasn't sure how much longer she could stand. Her usually bright and chipper face wore a ragged apathy. She looked weathered, like the world had cheated her. Maybe it had.

"Have you written about it?" I don't normally pester despairing people such odd questions, but with her, it seemed only natural. Aria was a thought hoarder, and her single form of release, like mine, could be found in the written word.

Taking a seat beside her, I could tell by her slight smile that I'd struck a chord with her. I understood. I might've been the only one. The thought made my heart swell in vain. "Only a little..." She confessed. "The words don't come."

When she closed her eyes and bowed her head like she was going to cry, I attempted to console her. "This isn't bad news, you know. A baby is no reason to cry." I realized only after I said the words that I could be wrong. Lots of people cry about babies. Aria was allowed to cry too.

Rubbing my hand over her back, I eased closer to her. What futile hope I had at bringing her back to me was drowned in the gaze she cast upon me. Full of despair and loneliness, it screamed silently like the bars of a prison cell. "It isn't Liam's."

I suddenly found that I couldn't breathe. My mind flashed back to the time we shared together. The night we swore never to mention again.

"You don't think..." I wondered aloud. Of course she thought, that's why she had come. My head was spinning and suddenly I was unable to comprehend my own thoughts. I was numb.

It was only when Aria opened her mouth again that I was forced to reenter reality. "Without a doubt," she sneered, letting out a detached, fate-filled chuckle. It stung more than it should have. "I haven't been with anyone like that, except you, for a very long time."

"May I?" The question came out like I was hoarse from bronchitis. When I reached my hand out toward her belly, she understood. And much to my wonderment, she visibly sighed in relief.

The soft touch, awkward as it was, sent invisible vines from to heavens winding their way around the two of us, encapturing us binding us together.

"I was afraid you were going to be angry. I don't want to put words in your mouth about how you do feel, because I don't think you know yet, but I can tell you aren't angry, and I think I can handle anything else."

I could tell from the despair in her voice that she'd thought about this for much longer than she let on. My mind drifted off to a place where I saw her tossing and turning, night after night, worried sick of being alone and worried sicker to open up about it.

"Am I the first person you've told?"

She nodded her head in toward her chest and that's when a steady stream of silent tears began to cascade down her face. She brought her knotted fist up to her mouth and stared at my coffee table in silence.

I wanted more than anything to calm her, to offer her a bit of solace, to comfort her in a way that made her truly feel better, but I didn't know where to begin. Nothing I said would change the circumstances. Aria and I were having a baby. 

**Aria...**

I had thought at first that I was mistaken, almost like some sort of cruel joke I was in the midst of playing on myself. But then the test came back positive and I found myself sitting in floor of my bathroom in my apartment in Philly weeping.

Flashbacks of that afternoon leapt into the forefront of my mind, memories I'd let my mind ponder and caress over and over again only nights before.

Back then, it was too good to be true. The secret dreams I'd had for years since our last "slip" had danced through my mind. At first, I had been ashamed, willing myself to let go and move on. But as the years went by and I dated Patrick and Daniel and Logan and Ryan, he always managed to wind his way back into my mind and tug at my heart.

Of course, I never told anyone this. No one could know.

Patrick was a sharp-minded business man from the city. We'd met when I first arrived and he'd asked me out to take his mind off of some girl named Joanna. He was an open book about his past, but I couldn't manage to muster the strength to share mine. It felt like he was barring into my soul, and eventually, it did us in. He went back to Joanna. I went back to writing.

Daniel was goofy and shy and worked at whatever place would hire him for a few months. I liked him because he didn't remind me of Patrick, but I didn't actually like him all that much. When I brought him home to meet mom and dad (at their insistence), we all sat through an uncomfortable silence over dinner so tangible you could've sliced through it with a knife. He left then and there, and I don't think anyone was all that hurt from it.

When I first met Logan, I thought I had cured myself of whole the Ezra thing. He was handsome and gentlemanly and of old money. He wanted to be an entrepreneur, and his options were virtually limitless considering the amount of money that floated around him. It was all good and fine until I realized that his millionaire complex made him subtly hate everyone except for himself, including me. It took a lot of guts, but I left him, same as he'd already left me.

By the time Ryan came along, I'd sworn off the idea of falling in love again. It had been four years of exhausting spiral, and for the life of me, I couldn't think of a single reason why it would be worth it. But he captivated me. That's how he managed to nestle his way into my heart.

He was an adventurer, a daredevil, a risk taker. And the way he carried himself made me want to be all of those things with him. Until it came down to it and I chose a once-in-lifetime job opportunity at the publishing company where I currently work while he went traipsing off to Cambodia without a second look back.

It had stung for months. Of all the men I'd ever loved, he was the only one who left unfazed by me. Call me a little selfish, but I had hoped for at least a moment's worth of raw emotion when I'd informed him I was staying behind. Ryan didn't work like that.

I threw myself into my new career full-force to get my mind off of the fact that I was 23 and single without the slightest bit of direction in my love life. I told myself if I devoted myself to writing and became a published author I would be happy and I would forget all about him.

Truth was, every time phrases and words interlocked in my mind, begging to be written down for safe keeping, all I thought about was him. 

**Ezra...**

I was cursed with the mind and heart of a hopeless romantic. And it haunted me everywhere I went. She haunted me everywhere I went.

There was something about her, the passion, the risk, the endurance, that made her stand out above all the rest. In my life, I'd dated many women, but she was the only one who managed to capture my heart and never let go.

Our relationship was never the same after I came clean to her about my true intentions of coming to Rosewood. I'd sufficiently proven my innocence, and she'd forgiven me a hundred times over, but something was off. We weren't us anymore. We were them.

I had thought that when we made love after I showed her my scar, the awkward friction would be obliterated, but it only made matters worse, driving an invisible wedge further and further between us.

The separation was palpable. Some days I felt like I was drowning in it. All I wanted was relief, someone to rush in and save me, usher me into a whole new existence.

That's when Nicole came into my life. She was wide-eyed and majestic with long, stringy brown hair that begged me to follow her out the door. In and of herself, she wasn't all that spectacular, but the places she spoke of tantalized me, drawing me away from the cold, dark world I'd grown accustomed to.

So when she asked me to accompany her to South America with Habitat for Humanity, no decision was needed. I would go. I would absolutely go. I would quit my job and do something good. I would leave my entire life behind and start again. I would fall in love with Nicole along the way. I would. And I would forget about her.

Everything went according to plan. I left with resounding applause for my bravery and sacrifice and selflessness, all the while, silently hoping that she'd show up to see me off. I didn't know what I would do if she did. Half of me wanted to ignore her, to pretend I had moved on. But I knew in my heart I couldn't do it because the other, louder half, screamed for me to take her behind a building and kiss her until we were both senseless and she'd convinced me to stay. That isn't bravery or sacrifice or selflessness. That is insanity.

Nevertheless, I'd gone with Nicole and expected a change of direction. When it came in the form of midnight searches through dense jungles and camo-clad rescue teams, I should've known. It was all wrong. And it was all my fault.

Upon my return to Rosewood, buried at the bottom of the bottle, I was met with a plethora of grief-stricken pitiers. Their comfort was smothering. It was nearly unbearable, knowing that they believed I was in love with her, when that wasn't it at all. I'd wanted to be, but that didn't count.

And then she came back around. When we met up again after five years, it felt like the first moment of vacation, where you inhale an exaggerated breath of ocean air just because you can. I let my senses marvel at her, indulging in all of the things they had been denied for so long. It didn't matter that we didn't speak or touch. Simply being in her presence was more riveting than any adventure I embarked upon in South America.


	2. Chapter 2

**Aria...**

When Alison summoned us all back to Rosewood, my entire being balked at the idea. I had spent years building a figurative wall between that little town and my future. All of my friends had moved away. My parents had decided to return to Iceland for an indefinite amount of time. Mike was away at college, accepted by a miracle unbeknownst to me. Everyone I loved and cared about was gone.

Except... No. I shuddered at the absurdity of my immature, irrational feelings. He was gone too, maybe not physically, but gone all the same.

What made me get on the plane had little to do with any of these facts. In all reality, it was the guilt that did me in. The other girls all responded to Ali's pleas in the affirmative and booked their flights so that they might valiantly rescue CeCe from her unjust treatment, setting the record straight and righting the world.

I wasn't so sure about all that, but I couldn't live with myself knowing that I would let my friends down if I didn't at least go and listen to what she had to say.

While in Rosewood, I willed myself to stay away from The Brew at any and all costs. My self-control wavered, however, and one day I found myself opening up the antique door with the excuse that it had been far too long since I'd had a decent cup of coffee.

He'd been there, of course, descending the stairs as I walked in the door like some sort of sign that fate was drawing us together. I found myself staring at him, half in disbelief and half in wonder, like I wasn't quite capable of validating his existence. Only after I forced myself out of hazy euphoria was I able to focus on the tangible.

He was grungy and he smelled of whiskey even though it was ten in the morning. I'd heard on the news about the girl he was with in South America same as everyone else. It has been international news. Of course, at the time, I'd told myself he didn't really love her. Only then could I see that I was terribly wrong, standing before him as heartbroken grief practically oozed out of him. All I could do was offer him a weak smile.

Coffee all but forgotten, we'd sat and talked for nearly two hours, mulling over the details that had been the past five years. Our conversation was tense and directed, both of us choosing our words with the utmost care, unsure how to approach the past in relation to the future.

Many words hung in the valence that neither of us found the guts to articulate, even though we both knew we wanted to. It was like we couldn't quite trust ourselves to go there. And so we didn't.

But it was only a matter of time. I couldn't just stand there and watch him suffer, silently begging me for help. I cared far too much to do that. Lines would blur and subsequently be crossed, but I had resolved long before that point to do whatever it took to bring him back. At the time, I thought that meant back to life, but in time, I realized back to life meant back to me. 

**Ezra...**

When we spoke for the first time at The Brew, there had been a tangible separation in the air, one that cut my heart in two. She spoke about Nicole with such tenderness and sorrow. She asked if I had written about it, told me it would help accelerate the grieving process.

I don't know if she noticed, but I had visibly exhaled when she said that. Someone who was actually grieving would never show signs of relief when told how to grieve more quickly. I shouldn't have, out of respect for Nicole, if nothing else, but it was a natural reaction, like she was drawing me out of the prison I was trapped in. I felt ashamed of myself for the man I had become, taking advice from the woman I love about how to get over the one I couldn't.

We'd parted ways with soft smiles and awkward waves, leaving more questions behind between the two of us than were answers. Something told me I would see her again soon, and that thought comforted me more than the pile of sympathy cards and half-dead roses awaiting me in my apartment.

It struck me as strange that everyone I met offered their condolences, but she hadn't. She hadn't ever said that she was sorry Nicole was gone. More than likely, she had just casually left it out in the whirlwind of thought that was our reunion, but my heart still managed to leap at the thought of what it might mean. Nevertheless, I forced myself to think realistically.

Aria was a smart, educated, beautiful, and captivating young woman. She was capable of finding love elsewhere, love that didn't involve a ragged drunkard with ties to an international tragedy. I almost gave up hope, shoving my feelings back into the hole is drawn them out of, but then she showed up at my door.

When my mind had finished processing the reality of her presence, I'd invited her in and asked her if she wanted anything to eat. She was obviously fresh off of the plane, mind tossing around some urgent matter. I didn't even have time to speculate what that might be when she opened her mouth.

It was about the book. The stupid book. Of course it was. This interaction was nothing more than a business discussion between two professionals. Well, one professional, considering I was in sweatpants and a t-shirt listening to her drone on about how she needed something to give Jillian. Something that I honestly didn't have and never would.

In that instant, I desperately wanted her to go away, to leave me and the mess that was my life behind in her wake. I wanted to see her succeed and work her way up in the ranks at the publishing house, to go on dates with Liam and laugh freely, without a care in the world for her pathetic old English teacher.

But I was too selfish for that, and perhaps she was too. "I believe in you, Ezra." She'd said, interrupting my throbbing of thoughts. And somehow, I truly believed that she did. Whatever that triggered in me was enough to hand her my flash drive and let her back into my world, at least a little bit. Granted, there was nothing on the flash drive, but I knew that by giving it to her, I was opening up to the idea of actually writing the story. Nothing scared me more. 

**Aria...**

I hadn't wanted to return to Rosewood on Jillian's behalf to attempt to woo Ezra into fulfilling his end of their book agreement. In fact, I would've rather done just about anything else. When she didn't give me an option, however, I had agreed, deciding to brainstorm useful tactics on the plane ride down. I didn't want it to have to be like that, cold and business-like, between us, but I didn't know how else to approach the rocky ledge that was our friendship.

When he'd handed me the flash drive, I had sighed exuberantly in relief. At least he still thought enough of me to spare me my job. Only when I'd returned home and opened it up to pages upon pages of gruesome research did I realize he had been stalling. I knew him well-enough to know what this meant. There was no book.

Surprisingly, he had agreed to meet with me after he'd let me in on his secret, handing me pages of freshly sprawled words. I had no doubt that it was quality material, anything Ezra Fitz had the wherewithal to pen did, but I immediately questioned its validity.

After months of restraining emotion, how could he sit down in one night and draft a story drawing from the floodgates? How could he sit before me the very next day with a smile on his face, subconsciously downplaying the work? I knew Ezra well enough to know that this entire situation didn't make sense, but I knew better than to question him, simply accepting his manuscript and moving on.

It made sense to me that Ezra's words would be emotionally riveting, but I had underestimated their effect on me. A single page into the manuscript, I had to break for air, awestruck by the sheer power behind the words. It was only a matter of time before I allowed my mind to drift back to the recesses of our time together, my active imagination substituting my own self in Nicole's place. It was a dangerous move, but one that was easily done. I slipped into the story like it was designed for me, and once I managed to entangle myself there, I was in no state to return to reality.

As quickly as it began, though, it was over. Even a writer with the talent of Ezra Fitz couldn't manage more than two perfect chapters in a single night. Distancing myself from the disappointment that overwhelmed me, I focused on the reality of the situation. The terms of Jillian's advance included five chapters and she would settle for nothing less. I couldn't possibly face Ezra and beg him for more, not after his odd behavior before. Despite this, I felt a compelling need to protect him in some way along with a striking need to respond.

The choice was clear, my decision compulsively drawn from my raging emotion. I would write the next three chapters on my own and submit them in his name. My conscience screamed that I would protect him from the cruel world of publishing, but it was only when my heart agreed that my decision was final.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ezra...**

I should've been inconsolably angry when I found out what she'd done. She'd single-handedly sabotaged my writing career by taking it upon herself to write in my name for the sole purpose of ensuring a deadline was met. She'd written from the perspective of my dead girlfriend, the woman I was supposedly in love with, taken the words right out of her silent mouth and slapping them on a page for her own financial gain.

Except I wasn't inconsolably angry. I couldn't even find it within me to show the slightest edge of disappointment. Perhaps it was the alcohol I was drowning in, but when I'd read those words she so brilliantly crafted, it didn't feel like a tribute to my deceased humanitarian lover. It felt like a response.

That's when I knew I'd lost it. There was no possible way to for her to know that the words I'd frantically penned as a first draft for her in the early hours of the morning were drawn not from my rendezvous with Nicole, but from my latent feelings for her. It simply wasn't possible. Yet I found myself reading her chapters as if it were.

That single dose of insanity was the only thing that kept me sated. As crazy as it was, the air of mystery and errant hope surrounding the entire situation drew me in like a drug. Suddenly, life wasn't about my weak attempts at mourning a woman's life I could never truly separate myself from. Instead, it held a promise of something so new and something old all at the same time.

Unbeknownst to Aria, I had made a call to Jillian, assuring her that the work Aria had submitted had contributions from both her and me, that in my time of writer's block she had been an excellent asset, and we had quickly realized how great we worked as a team. If she liked the chapters, I reasoned, it would only make sense for her to allow us to complete the project as co-writers, and much to my amazement, she had agreed.

Aria's agreement quickly followed suit, and it wasn't long before we were spending hours together every single day, pitching ideas back and forth to each other over coffee and pie in my apartment. In the back of my mind, I understood how wrong the entire setup was, but I pushed those thoughts away in favor of the unabashed bliss that came with the revival of our friendship.

It was innocent, I told myself, nothing more than two friends writing an intertwining story to honor the sacrifice of a bright young humanitarian. When feelings were out of the picture, that excuse seemed plausible, but when I threw my inner longings into the mix, it became tarnished. I could only hope that she might one day understand. 

**Aria...**

I'd worked at a publishing company long enough to know that relief and excitement are the natural feelings that accompany the completion of a book. For Ezra, nostalgia and grief were allowed to be thrown into the mix, but I had no excuse for my melancholy reaction other than disappointment that my season of euphoria was over.

Writing a book with Ezra was never my intent in coming back to Rosewood. Canceling on Liam to spend long nights watching black and white movies at Ezra's for the sake of "inspiration" was not my plan. Expounding upon the revival of my feelings for Ezra through the voice of his dead girlfriend didn't cross my mind until it was already happening, and, at that point, there was no turning back. I was a fool, but I was a fool in love, and I didn't regret a single second of the time we spent together.

In the back of my mind, I knew that the completion of the book meant we would part ways. After a short season of promotions and book-signing events, I would go back to my job at the publishing house in Boston, and he would continue his ownership duties at The Brew. There would be no more excuses to see each other. Any contact from this point forward would have to be without hiding behind a title. Subconsciously, I knew I wouldn't be brave enough to put myself out there like that, not after all he'd been through, not after I'd let my emotions toy with me in vain throughout this entire journey.

I decided that the best way to handle the situation was to remove myself from it emotionally and look at it strictly from a business perspective. This tactic held perfectly until I was faced with a situation that offered an emotional slip. As Ezra spoke of Jillian's high-esteem for the book, my heart thundered loudly in my chest. Pride swelled in my innermost being, and I could hardly contain my excitement.

But I didn't really have to contain it, did I? Excitement was a safe emotion to display. No sooner had I come to such a resolution than I felt the dam restraining all of my pent up emotion break, sending forth a stream of unchecked, unabashed, uncontrollable feeling that manifested itself in a chaste kiss to Ezra's lips.

For a split second, neither of us reacted, both equally shocked and compelled by the motion. As my heart switched gears from thundering in excitement to palpitating in frantic fear, I reasoned that it wasn't too late to run, to board the next flight to Boston and never look back.

But then I looked into his eyes and the insanity that was the last few months of my life made complete sense. The emotion in his face was a mirror image of my own, and we came to a mutual understanding without saying a single world. The story we had crafted on paper was, in fact, our own. The feelings we had drawn from were solely for each other. Neither of us could fathom the spider web of details that would eventually unfold, but neither of us cared.

And when he kissed me again, I am quite positive that I flatlined for an instant, the rush of emotion too much for me to physically handle. 

**Ezra...**

It was all too much for me, and yet, somehow, miraculously not enough. When we lay intertwined after our third bout of lovemaking well after the sun had gone down, I decided to break the silence, not because I had anything I needed to say, but because I feared what would happen if I said nothing at all.

"I love you, Aria Montgomery. I can only hope that after all of these years together, after this odyssey of overcoming insurmountable obstacles together, that you feel the same."

She glanced over at me from her spot half beside, half on top of me and laughed with a deep satisfaction I had yet to recognize in her. It's effects were infectious, and before I knew it, I was overcome with the sensation myself.

To an outsider glancing in at the situation, we would undoubtedly appear as two insane lovers, and perhaps, that's precisely what we were.

"You know, you don't always have to go all novelist on me. I get it, you love me, and I love you too."

Hearing her say the words lit a fire in my soul that I was confident would burn forever. What we had when we were together was nothing short of magic. This epic story, even to a pair of dreamy writers, was as unexpected as it was impossible.

And yet, there were still loose ends that needed to be mended. Words written between the lines of the story that needed to be reconciled. So abandoning my urges to pull her back to me and start from scratch, I pulled myself up onto my elbows and shifted her weight off of me, reaching into the floor in search of our abandoned clothing.

"I'm going to make us some coffee on the nice machine downstairs," I offered with a contented grin to reassure her, "the shop's closed by now and we're going to need the energy..." Taking note of her shy grin, I added, "considering how much we have to talk about."

On my coffee escapade, I let my mind wander to the woman who was dressing in my apartment and willed myself to acknowledge the reality of the day's events. As thrilled as I always thought I'd be to be a published author with a best-seller on his hands, I found that I was more enthralled by the fact that hope was alive for my relationship with Aria. After all those years of hoping and dreaming, wishing and praying, my fantasies were coming to fruition. At the time, that alone was enough.

 **Aria...**

After Ezra left, I gathered my clothes from where they had landed strewn about his loft in our frantic struggle to remember each other only hours before. My collection brought back fond memories, the first of their sort in what felt like years. I was surprised at how comfortable it felt to be back inside his little world, how yesterday we were hesitant to touch each other and now I found myself going through a drawer full of boxers in search of a comfy t-shirt I could put on instead of the clothes I had come in. Something about those clothes made me sick now, like if I ever put them on again this would all prove itself to be a dream. Plus, I loved Ezra's clothes, wearing them had always made me feel an irrational sense of security.

I realized that I would be quite content to stare at the smile that played at Ezra's lips when he saw me in his shirt upon his return to the loft forever, and I made a mental note to think of as many ways as I could to plot its return.

More serious matters were in store for now, though, and we both knew it. When he set my cup of coffee on the table, he began his speech. "Aria, I would love for this to last from now until eternity, but there are serious issues on the table that we need to address now in order to avoid bigger problems in the near future. I'm going to ask you a question and then we can alternate until we both feel completely at ease..."

"...That might take a while." I interrupted, struggling to think of a time in our relationship where that had ever been the case.

"Humor me," he chuckled. "A wise man once said that doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results is the definition of insanity."

"Albert Einstein," I concluded for him. "I guess maybe we should listen to him."

We settled ourselves on the sofa in Ezra's living area, sitting eye to eye, determined to solve all of the world's problems in one sitting. We were both idealists, what can I say?

"Okay, so my first question for you is about Liam. What are you going to do now that you've found Prince Charming?"

I knew his joke was carefully placed to lighten the mood. He had probably thought I hadn't given poor Liam a single thought until that very instance, and if those were, indeed, his thoughts, he would have been completely right.

Liam was a good guy, the definition of someone's soul mate, just not mine. I had dated him because he was fun to be around and he was crazy about me, and on a psychological level, our sneaking around at work reminded me way too much of another similar scenario that had played out nearly seven years prior.

Breathing in and out slowly, I thought carefully about Ezra's question and began to articulate an answer in my head. "We're going to have to be very careful," I started, and then, when I saw the look of confusion on Ezra's face, I added, "He's never done anything to hurt me and I want to make sure that when I break things off it's on civil terms. If he ever finds out about this, what happened today, he will be completely heartbroken."

"He will undoubtedly be heartbroken, either way." Ezra's honesty gripped me. For the first time in the duration of our relationship, I felt like I could count on him to be real with me and give me sound advice without sugarcoating it.

I reached for my coffee mug and took a long swig before returning it to its spot on the table. "You're right," I responded. "But I want to make sure he doesn't feel cheated. I'll call him today and ask him to meet me in Rosewood to discuss the book. Then I'll break things off and tell him that working with you has revived my feelings, that it would be dishonest to stay with him when I'm in love with you."

Ezra smiled coolly, face shining with a sort of mystic disbelief. "It's going to be difficult, but I believe in you. Now, it's your turn to ask me a question."

I hadn't even thought about what I was going to ask Ezra in my attempts to wrap my mind around the Liam situation. Where should I begin? I resolved to start at the very beginning.

"Tell me about Nicole," I inquired, "not 'book' Nicole, real Nicole. And tell me about your feelings for her, once again, not 'book' feelings, but real ones."

Ezra proceeded to delve into the world that was his life after I left for college. In his words, she was the perfect distraction from myself, and he'd agreed to accompany her to South America without many feelings attached in order to take a chance that he might fall for her. But then he didn't and she died, and everyone filled in the blanks to mean that his despair was heartbreak, when, in fact, it was actually an extreme case of guilt.

"I lead her on," he reflected, tears welling up in his eyes. "I lead her on for my own personal sake. Chasing her meant chasing adventure and boldness and all things truly good whilst running from you. I had thought I would fall for her in time, but I didn't, and when she went missing, I couldn't live with the fact that she thought I loved her when it was all just soul-searching."

At this point in our conversation, both overwhelmed with emotion, our interrogation stopped. I had pulled him close to me and whispered that it would all be okay, that the storm was behind us now, and that even though we had both done things we weren't proud of, that it had lead us to this point, and that we could be at peace with that. If only I knew what storm was brewing on the horizon...


End file.
